


like real people do

by dizkipling



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 17:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11490972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizkipling/pseuds/dizkipling
Summary: ronan doesn't want to sleep, noah doesn't have to.





	like real people do

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Hozier's song "Like Real People Do" and written as a result of rereading The Dream Thieves and truly appreciating the relationship between Ronan and Noah.

_It happened like this;_

Sleep to a dreamer was like an astronomer looking at the night sky, it was something natural, something that made _sense_. To someone like Ronan, sleep was no different than a deep sea diver finding themselves alone in the desert, equipment still on as though their ship was just over the next hill. Sense and reason were thrown out. The only things left to feel were discomfort and doubt.

Ronan Lynch was a dreamer in the way he was human, a dreamer in name only. He dreamed, and he dreamed often, but when those dreams became too much, he saw it best to evade sleep altogether. To a dreamer who couldn’t turn off his dreams, the best way to ignore them was to forgo the very thing that made them possible.

As long as he stayed awake, he couldn’t dream. And if he couldn’t dream, he couldn’t hurt anyone. He couldn’t hurt himself. So he sat upright in his bed, headphones playing whatever terrible song he had last downloaded, and he _fought_.

Sleep was a hunter, and Ronan was its prey. The best he could do was run, long and hard and fast, until he was dizzied and out of breath. He couldn’t run forever, but believing he could _almost_ made it seem possible.

He stood up from the bed and slowly placed his headphones around his neck, music still audible.

“ _Kerah_?”

It was Chainsaw. In the darkened room, Ronan couldn’t see her, but felt when her talons found their usual place on his shoulder. “Not tonight.”

He didn’t want company. Ronan felt the pressure leave his shoulder as Chainsaw sought out a different corner of the room to nestle herself into. The bird, Ronan found, understood him better than most people. Or maybe it was that he didn’t allow others the chance to understand him. He could take a few squawks of judgement from a bird.

Shaking his head, Ronan left his room. He put his music on pause and as he did so an eerie quiet settled around him. The type of quiet that was too quiet, as if the walls were holding their breath, waiting for _something_. Ronan didn’t want to wait.

He slipped into the driver’s seat in the BMW with as little noise as he could manage. Outside, the sound of cicadas and the hum of the streetlights comforted Ronan. Background noise. He didn’t slip the key into the ignition, knowing the sound of the engine starting would wake Gansey (if Gansey was asleep, Ronan added to himself).

Gansey had once described Ronan as a creature, and Ronan quite liked that description. It separated him from the other homo sapiens of the world, making him appear otherworldly. He was human in name only.

Sitting in the car, the slick summer air beginning to seep through the cracks, Ronan felt the heaviness in his eyes, the way they stayed closed just a little too long when he blinked. The hunter was catching up to its prey. A trace of sweat began to form on his forehead, a mixture of anxiety and the heat.

He toyed with the BMW’s keys, running a finger along the sharp points and grooves. He needed to feel alive. The problem with Ronan, however, was that he wasn’t sure he knew what that meant anymore. He wanted to drive, but knew Gansey would follow. He could call Adam, but feared the inevitable argument.

He didn’t want to run, didn’t want to fight. He wanted to sleep and he wanted to dream, but one thought as to what could stem from such an endeavor was enough for him to push the idea aside.

Ronan had been so wound up in his own thoughts and anxieties that he didn’t take notice of the chill that had spread through the car. When the cold touched him, causing him to flinch, he knew what was happening as quickly as he said –

“ _Noah_.”

There was something soft about the way Ronan said his name, though perhaps soft wasn’t the word. It wasn’t the way Ronan normally spoke to someone, words slewed with hostilities and the feeling of gasoline prepared to be struck by a match. He sounded human.

“Couldn’t sleep.” It wasn’t a question, which Ronan found odd coming from Noah, who, in fact, didn’t sleep.

“You don't need to sleep. You're dead.”

Ronan turned just in time to see the up and down movement of Noah’s shoulders as he laughed. “I guess I am.” His voice, like everything else about him, was soft. A little fuzzy around the edges. “But you’re not.”

Ronan thought of something quick to say back, some comment that appeared sarcastic on the outside but showed just how deep his current state ran. Mind coming up short, he stayed silent.

“You’re not dead.” Noah repeated, a bit more forceful this time. “You’re not dead.” Each word was pronounced, emphasized. Noah shook his head, “I’m sorry,” whatever had passed through him was gone.

“You know,” Ronan sighed, placing both of his hands on the steering wheel, eyes forward, and mimicking the motion of driving the car, “Gansey told me that the longest anyone has ever gone without sleep was 264 hours. Do you think I could beat it?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ronan saw Noah shake his head. “Please don’t try it.” _Please_. There was nothing joking about the way Noah said it, no hidden meaning that led Ronan to believe the other boy did, in fact, want to watch the experiment unfold.

“Why not?”

“You don’t deserve to end up like me.” Ronan almost missed it, Noah’s voice no more than a whisper. For a long time, they didn’t speak, Ronan’s head now resting on the top of the steering wheel, eyes fighting to stay open. He brought his head back up only when he felt a chilled hand brush against his arm. Ronan shuddered.

Noah’s hand, barely visible, had found its hold on Ronan’s arm. There was the _feeling_ of contact, but really, it was no more than that. In the way Ronan felt incomplete on the inside, Noah was incomplete on the outside. More of the idea of a person than an actual person. Ronan wondered what would become of him when he too died.

“I think I deserve whatever shit is coming for me.”

“I don’t.”

Ronan’s arm jerked, Noah let go.

“No offense, but I don’t care what you think.” It was mean, he knew it was mean, but he didn’t apologize. Ever the believer, the concepts of heaven and hell followed Ronan like a shadow. Close behind and always with him. His God, Ronan believed, would assign whatever fate he deserved. And as far as Ronan was concerned, Noah wasn’t God.

Noah didn’t speak, and Ronan didn’t expect him to. If he was Adam, an argument would have broken out that both would regret soon after it began. If he was Gansey, there’d be a long sigh before a few words of agreement followed by another sigh and then silence. Noah was different.

There was only silence, until –

“I think you’re a good person, Ronan.”

 _Ronan. Good person._ Words that never seemed to find their way together. And yet, here they were, coming from Noah’s mouth.

“I’m not.”

“I know you care,” Noah was prepared to leave. “You pretend you don’t, but I know you do.”

When Ronan looked at Noah, the other boy’s eyes were faced forward, his expression blank. Ronan wanted to say something, to yell some more, but every word he knew didn’t seem to fit. And Noah was right. Ronan did care, about all of them. He cared about Gansey and his quest, about Adam’s warm laughter and his determination. Even Blue meant something to him, a realization he had been reluctant to admit.

He cared about Noah.

But when had caring ever worked for Ronan Lynch? The things he loved always found a way to leave him in the end. He wondered how long it would be until he lost someone else.

That’s when it happened.

Kissing a ghost was a lot like kissing a block of ice, but at the same time the two were nothing alike. The feeling was cold, like ice, but lacked the solidity. Noah was there, he was tangible, but not in the way Ronan was. The feeling, the kiss, was all new for Ronan. He kissed Noah and Noah kissed him and Ronan was left to wonder if this was what it meant to be human.

“ _Oh_.” Was all Noah said when the two parted, a delicate finger tracing over his own lips.

Ronan’s mind was on fire, senses hyperalert upon realizing what he had just done. He had kissed Noah. _Noah had kissed him back_. Running a hand over his shaved head, Ronan thought of something to say. But his mind continued to burn, incoherent jumbles of words and phrases replacing anything profound.

The silence became suffocating, but Ronan did nothing to stop it. It was Noah, voice small, who said, “ _Squash one_ –”

“ _Squash two_.” Ronan responded.

Ease filled the car’s interior, two sets of laughter alleviating the silence. Dreams and humanity and fate left Ronan’s consciousness. He put everything he ran from on hold, for just one moment, concerning himself with only the shape of Noah’s lips and the way his eyes crinkled a bit when he laughed. Ronan wasn’t human, not really, but in those early hours of the morning, he thought he was as close as he could get.   


End file.
